The third object is a black and white egg half as large as the pyramid, with little etchings like circuitry running over its surface.
“This Rule-Encrusted Egg,” he says, hovering a hand over the egg to indicate it, “… recalls one’s Duty to the future.” He drops it in, and it makes a small well in the Flesh as it disappears.
He moves down the slab-table, counting until he reaches the fourth object, the Rose, and reaches for it, his shoulders quaking softly.
“Stolen love- the spoil of war,” he breathes, picking up the heavy wet bloom, whose petals gleam in shades of jeweled rainbow: blue sky, molten gold, purple dusk, red blood, orange dawn, emerald eyes and dark water. His fingers empty, and the Rose falls in.
Rassilon moves his hands to the next object on the slab-table, a pair of golden rings carved with raised roses. He picks them up, holds them in his hands, rolls them between his fingers. Then he shows them to her, letting the gold glint off those parts of her stained dark sockets that still retain some shine and aren’t hanging with her ancient meat.
“Companionship…” he remembers aloud as he drops the Rose Rings into the bubbling tub, “The Other made these Rose Rings you know… I always meant to torture the means out of him, but well… events followed another path that day, did they not? He stole what was mine. Caused you to suffer.”